nguish your lost key from that
used by my client?"

"Yes; my key was newer than his, and brighter."

"It was my client's custom to keep an extra suit of clothes in his
office closet, was it not?"

"Yes."

"And it would be very natural that, in exchanging one garment for
another, a glove or handkerchief should be sometimes left in the
discarded garment?"

"Quite natural."

"Now let us suppose that, on the night of the murder, my client,
returning from a visit to Mapleton, where he was called to attend upon
the wife of the murdered man, halted at his office, hung up his outer
coat, and sat for a little time, writing or reading, or perhaps
meditating.

"Let us suppose that on preparing to face the wind, that was rising
rapidly, and blowing chill, he substituted a heavy overcoat for the one
he had worn earlier in the evening; and that he discovered, when half
way home, that he had left his much needed handkerchief with his
discarded coat.

"Would it not be quite an easy matter for some one who had obtained
possession of your key, _and was sufficiently familiar with the bearings
of the office to move about in the dark_, or by the dim fire-light, to
enter that office, remove the surgeon's knife from its case, pilfer a
handkerchief from the coat pocket, and escape unseen?"

"It would--I should think."

"If this person having the key, the knife, and the handkerchief, all in
his possession, should go and fling them all into the old cellar on the
Burns' place, you would call that singular?"

"Yes," from lips white and parched.

O'Meara turns suddenly and takes something from the table.

"Mr. Lamotte, take this key, examine it well. Does it at all resemble
the one you--_lost_?"

Frank takes the key, mechanically, turns it about with nerveless
fingers, scarcely glances at it.

"I think--it is--the same," he mutters, hoarsely.

"You think it is your lost key. Mr. Lamotte, do you know where this key
was found?"

"No," stolidly.

"I will tell you. It was found in the old cellar, embedded in the mud,
_close beside the dead body of John Burrill_."

[Illustration: "It was found beside the body of John Burrill."]

Frank Lamotte's hands go up to his head, his pale face becomes livid,
his eyes seem starting from their sockets; he gasps, staggers, falls
heavily in a dead faint.

CHAPTER XLIII.

JUSTICE, SACRIFICE, DEATH.

And there is confusion in the court room.

Mr. Rand bounds angrily to his feet